How Little I Really Know
by queenofomega
Summary: One-shot: During an accident at a crime scene, Lindsay realizes how little she really knows about the person she considers to be a friend. Will she have the time to become a better friend or will it be taken from her? Linds/Stel friendship, some SMacked. Fixed of typos 07/22/12 .


**Disclaimer: As usual, I do not own CSI: NY.**

**Author's Note: A short friendship one-shot about Stella and Lindsay. I feel bad because I keep terrorizing poor Stella. o.O Not really intentional. It just happens.**

**Don't know if she actually plays the piano, but it was important to the plot. Told from Lindsay's point of view.**

A single blink of the eye is all it takes for your world to change. A mere moment can change your meaning of life. You can expect one thing to happen, then another will just occur, seemingly coming out of nowhere. Life is not as predictable as you'd hope it to be. And when you're a cop, you have to face that threat every waking- and even non-waking- moment of the day.

**CSI: NY**

I had hoped to just go home from work, maybe go out for a nice dinner with Danny, stop by the movie rental place and get a cute comedy for us to watch later over beers and those tarts my mom sent over from Montana. I had been fully expecting to leave that office building in one piece, not worrying about whether I was going to live another day.

Stella and I had been called out to meet Adam, who, in spite of being initially nervous to take the job, was filling in for Hawkes as a CSI. Hawkes had called in sick, obviously with the same cold that I had just gotten over. It had spread through the lab like a wild fire. But we made our way to the scene, chatting and joking and wondering when our boys would grow up and actually admit how they felt. It was so obvious, the way they got all flustered around us and those typical things that typical men did when in love with a woman.

I tugged my new blue silk scarf tighter around my neck. The autumn air was crisp and beginning to get a bit chilly. I couldn't figure out how Stella was fine in just a long sleeved shirt. As usual, her curls bounced against her back; I was glad she was letting them grow out a bit because it looked nice. She walked as if it was warm and comfortable weather, not depressing and cold. The sky was overcast, threatening to rain. I glared up and willed the water to stay up there. Rain in New York, the already grey city (from all the buildings and skyscrapers) was depressing. Montana was always so warm and sunny.

We got to the building, and warm air rushed to greet me as Stella held open the heavy glass door for me. I couldn't actually figure out what kind of building this was. I had initially thought it was an office building from its pristine, authoritative exterior. Something like a law firm or something. But when we walked in, I realized it was an apartment building: an expensive one by the looks of it. My own building looked like a rat's nest in comparison. It wasn't the nicest of buildings but it was home.

Stella checked a text message on her phone and led the way to the elevator. I followed Stella. Even after working a couple years with her, she was still the boss more than a friend. She was definitely my friend, a close one, but when at work, she was in charge. And it worked out that way. She was stubborn and proud, but she was smart and knew how to handle anything. Maybe if it was someone else, I'd fight for more control, but Stella knew what she was doing and that was okay with me.

We made it up to an apartment on the third floor. Stella was scanning the doors for a certain number and stopped at the number 37. I noticed the shoes lined up outside the door. I started to pull my own heeled boots off. The team had stopped questioning my reasons for it. Dead or alive, I believed that their customs should be respected, so I removed my shoes. I stood in my sock feet behind Stella as she opened the door and strolled over to meet Adam.

He looked a little nervous, but was already surrounded in bags of evidence. I knelt beside him and praised him on his work. He visibly brightened. I started sorting through Adam's pile. He paid attention to detail, scraping up every bit of trace that might bare any amount of significance. I turned to look for Stella, who had wandered off after grabbing a pair of gloves from her kit. She had ended up sitting on a piano bench, running her fingers along the keys. I got up to go join her when she heard the sound coming from beneath Stella's fingers.

I didn't know that Stella could play so well. I don't think she really knew either. Her fingers unconsciously moved across the black and white surface, though her eyes scanned the area around the piano for anything. Something must've drawn her there, and the soft melody kept coming. It was light, simple, sad, but beautiful. I slowly put a hand on her shoulder and she jumped a little. She turned to face me then stood up hastily. I don't even think she knew she was playing.

"Where'd you learn-?"

"To play?" Stella ended for me. She smiled at some thought and answered, "One of my foster sisters taught me for awhile before she moved away."

I remained silent and went to go process the other side of the room, near a desk with a shiny PC laptop on it. I looked through the recycling bin for anything. I realized how little I really knew about Stella. It made me wonder how much people like Mac knew...

"Hey, guys, the ME wants to take the body. I'm done with it but do you...?"

Adam hesitated. I knew he wanted one of us to check to make sure he hadn't missed anything. I trusted him, he was a good guy that knew all the basics and more. He hadn't missed anything. Apparently Stella thought so too. She shook her head at Adam and the ME came to take the body. Adam began to stand then turned back to us.

"Can I go now or should I stay?"

Stella told Adam he could leave. At the time, it seemed okay. Nothing could happen to us. Could it?

Adam left, quite gladly, I think, and Stella and I continued working in silence. I found practically nothing. So far, the crime was starting to look like a suicide. The victim had been stabbed, but at an upward angle, suggesting suicide. I sighed. Crimes like these were sad. Actually, all crimes were sad, but suicides bothered me. I'd been through some horrible stuff back in Montana, but my life had turned out just fine. This girl now wouldn't get a chance to turn things around.

Stella had just about as much luck as me. Nothing. She sighed and sat back on the floor, knees hugged up to her chest. She had been investigating under the bed. I went to lend her a hand. She grabbed my wrist and pulled herself up. I noticed a curl fall into her eye as she did so.

Adam had taken all of his evidence with him. We stood in the centre of the room, surveying everything. We had covered it all. I had looked in the bathroom while Stella had taken the kitchen.

Stella and I shared a look, then I headed for the door. We were both ready to leave, and I pulled out my phone, ready to phone Mac and tell him we were on our way back to the lab.

That's when I heard her scream.

A man stood in the centre of the living room, holding Stella by the hair. One glance behind him and I saw the open kitchen window. He must have somehow managed to climb up two floors and get in. I could imagine him coming in and startling Stella from behind. I stood rooted to the spot, not wanting to move. I debated what would happen if I did move. I inched forward the tiniest bit. The man did not look like the type to harm anyone, especially not a cop. But I hadn't seen the knife.

I took one step too far. The man dropped Stella, and only then did I see the spreading scarlet stain on the back of her white shirt. She hit the ground face first, and I wanted to sprint to her side but the man was edging towards me.

"Where's the girl?"

I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. I tried again as he advanced two steps, and I took two back.

"Where's Amanda?"

"Put the knife down..."

"WHERE IS SHE?"

I could feel tears forming in my eyes. My friends had been murdered in Montana, Stella lay injured in front of me, and I could feel my last moments wasting away. I was scared silly. Time slowed as he approached, knife in hand. Was this what my friends felt back in that diner? Were their last moments filled with fear too? I closed my eyes as he stood in front of me, and waited to feel my skin break, for my legs to collapse beneath me, for my life to just seep away. But that didn't come. I felt a searing pain against my collarbone, but nothing more. I opened my eyes to see the man lying in front of me. A bullet hole had ruined his nice plaid shirt. I hadn't even heard the shot.

Stella was leaning against a chair, one knee on the floor, trying her best to stay upright. But I raced to her side just as she slumped to the floor. I pulled her close, cradling her head in my arms, one my hands stretching to try and stop the blood flowing from her back. I was sobbing, more from relief that we were both alive than from fear. I couldn't reach for my cell phone, but I saw Stella trying to grasp her radio weakly. My hand was soaked with her blood, and it terrified me.

I heard the sirens before Stella managed to grab her radio. I gently pulled her hand away from it then my hand returned to stroking her hair. She was shaking in my arms, and her eyes were fluttering every so often, forced to say open. The sirens weren't close enough. I didn't know what else to do other than try to stop the bleeding and murmur comforting words to her. I pulled off my scarf and balled it up over her wound. All of a sudden, as Stella seemed to fade, my relief did too. I was afraid; afraid to lose her like my friends in Montana.

It came back to me how little I knew about Stella. If I was really her friend, we should have known more about each other. I didn't want to lose that chance now. We both had to pull through. We had so much to talk about, so much we needed to learn to become better friends. I never realized what I was losing until now.

The sirens neared, but not fast enough. Stella's eyes had closed, though I spoke to her and cried out her name. But my collarbone was throbbing and my own blood was soaking through my shirt. My eyelids felt like pieces of lead, and threatened to close. But I had to keep them open for Stella... I had to make sure Stella was okay...

Then I slumped to the floor beside her.

**CSI: NY**

When I woke up, I was surrounded by white walls. I knew exactly where I was. The first thought that came to my mind was:  
"Whe...re's... Ste-"

Danny sat next to me, his thumb rubbing small circle on the top of my hand. It was a soothing motion but I still struggled to sit. It didn't hurt, and I tried to force myself past Danny, now standing. I realized I wasn't hooked up to anything.

"Montana..."

"Where is she?"

Danny sighed. I glared at him and he regretfully choked out that the doctors had said I was fine as long as I had slept. Apparently I had woken up a couple times but I couldn't remember. Danny led me down the hallway as he spoke, past three doors to another room. Inside, Mac and Sid were sitting by Stella's bed and both looked a little shocked to see me.

They both stood, and Mac forced me into his chair before they, and Danny after some prodding, left me with Stella. Sid quietly whispered in my ear as he passed. Stella hadn't woken yet since the incident. I was shocked to hear that it had been two days ago. I hesitantly placed my hand on hers, not sure of what else to do. There had always been a slight professional boundary between us.

I didn't like seeing Stella this way. She looked peaceful now, not in pain like she had been in that apartment, but she was peaceful in the way my grandmother had looked when she had passed away. That bothered me. I rubbed my thumb on her hand the same way Danny had done with me and murmured:

"I'm here, Stella."

I just felt like talking. So I spilled my guts. I talked about special experiences as a kid, what happened in that diner, all the challenges of work, Danny, things like that. I wasn't sure what to do at an unconscious colleague's bedside. I just talked, wondering if she could hear me.

"You can't leave us, Stel. There's so many people you have to consider. I know you're hurting, but so is everyone else by seeing you here. Please, Stel, be okay."

I counted the beeps on those stupid heart monitors that drove me insane. But this time it was keeping my sanity. I stayed with Stella all night. I talked and talk until I heard that noise.

The noise that I dreaded.

I was just nodding off to sleep in my chair when the beeps became much farther apart. Then, it was just one beep. I knew that peaceful look had not been good. I let out a cry that made nurses and doctors come running. The rest was a blur of white coats and Mac's mutterings of the word "no" over and over again. I never let go of Stella's hand.

The doctors tried pushing me away, but I was not about to lose another friend. I put my whole heart and soul into praying for her to live. Then, without the doctors even bringing out those painful paddle things, the monitor started beeping again. The doctors looked baffled but stepped away to give me and Mac (who was glued to her other hand) some space.

I'll never forget the moment when, a few days later after the panic subsided, she opened her eyes for the first time since the incident and looked straight at me. I had saved her life, and I had saved a friend. I could feel the presence of my friends from Montana, as if here to congratulate me. And somehow, I was pretty sure Stella could too.

We never figured out why we were attacked, but that was okay. I got my dinner with Danny, and I got piano lessons with Stella. I'm really no good at it but I get to spend time with Stella, making up for the time almost stolen from us. After Montana, I knew that you could never spend too much time with your friends. You never knew what tomorrow would bring.

**CSI: NY**

A single blink of the eye is all it takes for your world to change. A mere moment can change your meaning of life. You can expect one thing to happen, then another will just occur, seemingly coming out of nowhere. Life is not as predictable as you'd hope it to be. And when you're a cop, you have to face that threat every waking- and even non-waking- moment of the day.

But not all those changes have to be permanent.

**Fin.**


End file.
